Chapter 40 - Consulting

Out of the music room, and away from his violin, the sound side
of Mr. Wyvil's character was free to assert itself. In his public
and in his private capacity, he was an eminently sensible man.

As a member of parliament, he set an example which might have
been followed with advantage by many of his colleagues. In the
first place he abstained from hastening the downfall of
representative institutions by asking questions and making
speeches. In the second place, he was able to distinguish between
the duty that he owed to his party, and the duty that he owed to
his country. When the Legislature acted politically--that is to
say, when it dealt with foreign complications, or electoral
reforms--he followed his leader. When the Legislature acted
socially--that is to say, for the good of the people--he followed
his conscience. On the last occasion when the great Russian
bugbear provoked a division, he voted submissively with his
Conservative allies. But, when the question of opening museums
and picture galleries on Sundays arrayed the two parties in
hostile camps, he broke into open mutiny, and went over to the
Liberals. He consented to help in preventing an extension of the
franchise; but he refused to be concerned in obstructing the
repeal of taxes on knowledge. "I am doubtful in the first case,"
he said, "but I am sure in the second." He was asked for an
explanation: "Doubtful of what? and sure of what?" To the
astonishment of his leader, he answered: "The benefit to the
people." The same sound sense appeared in the transactions of his
private life. Lazy and dishonest servants found that the gentlest
of masters had a side to his character which took them by
surprise. And, on certain occasions in the experience of Cecilia
and her sister, the most indulgent of fathers proved to be as
capable of saying No, as the sternest tyrant who ever ruled a
fireside.

Called into council by his daughter and his guest, Mr. Wyvil
assisted them by advice which was equally wise and kind--but
which afterward proved, under the perverse influence of
circumstances, to be advice that he had better not have given.

The letter to Emily which Cecilia had recommended to her father's
consideration, had come from Netherwoods, and had been written by
Alban Morris.

He assured Emily that he had only decided on writing to her,
after some hesitation, in the hope of serving interests which he
did not himself understand, but which might prove to be interests
worthy of consideration, nevertheless. Having stated his motive
in these terms, he proceeded to relate what had passed between
Miss Jethro and himself. On the subject of Francine, Alban only
ventured to add that she had not produced a favorable impression
on him, and that he could not think her
likely, on further experience, to prove a desirable friend.

On the last leaf were added some lines, which Emily was at no
loss how to answer. She had folded back the page, so that no eyes
but her own should see how the poor drawing-master finished his
letter: "I wish you all possible happiness, my dear, among your
new friends; but don't forget the old friend who thinks of you,
and dreams of you, and longs to see you again. The little world I
live in is a dreary world, Emily, in your absence. Will you write
to me now and then, and encourage me to hope?"

Mr. Wyvil smiled, as he looked at the folded page, which hid the
signature.

"I suppose I may take it for granted," he said slyly, "that this
gentleman really has your interests at heart? May I know who he
is?"

Emily answered the last question readily enough. Mr. Wyvil went
on with his inquiries. "About the mysterious lady, with the
strange name," he proceeded--"do you know anything of her?"

Emily related what she knew; without revealing the true reason
for Miss Jethro's departure from Netherwoods. In after years, it
was one of her most treasured remembrances, that she had kept
secret the melancholy confession which had startled her, on the
last night of her life at school.

Mr. Wyvil looked at Alban's letter again. "Do you know how Miss
Jethro became acquainted with Mr. Mirabel?" he asked.

"I didn't even know that they were acquainted."

"Do you think it likely--if Mr. Morris had been talking to you
instead of writing to you--that he might have said more than he
has said in his letter?"

Cecilia had hitherto remained a model of discretion. Seeing Emily
hesitate, temptation overcame her. "Not a doubt of it, papa!" she
declared confidently.

"Is Cecilia right?" Mr. Wyvil inquired.

Reminded in this way of her influence over Alban, Emily could
only make one honest reply. She admitted that Cecilia was right.

Mr. Wyvil thereupon advised her not to express any opinion, until
she was in a better position to judge for herself. "When you
write to Mr. Morris," he continued, "say that you will wait to
tell him what you think of Miss Jethro, until you see him again."

"I have no prospect at present of seeing him again," Emily said.

"You can see Mr. Morris whenever it suits him to come here," Mr.
Wyvil replied. "I will write and ask him to visit us, and you can
inclose the invitation in your letter."

"Oh, Mr. Wyvil, how good of you!"

"Oh, papa, the very thing I was going to ask you to do!"

The excellent master of Monksmoor looked unaffectedly surprised.
"What are you two young ladies making a fuss about?" he said.
"Mr. Morris is a gentleman by profession; and--may I venture to
say it, Miss Emily?--a valued friend of yours as well. Who has a
better claim to be one of my guests?"

Cecilia stopped her father as he was about to leave the room. "I
suppose we mustn't ask Mr. Mirabel what he knows of Miss Jethro?"
she said.

"My dear, what can you be thinking of? What right have we to
question Mr. Mirabel about Miss Jethro?"

"It's so very unsatisfactory, papa. There must be some reason why
Emily and Mr. Mirabel ought not to meet--or why should Miss
Jethro have been so very earnest about it?"

"Miss Jethro doesn't intend us to know why, Cecilia. It will
perhaps come out in time. Wait for time."

Left together, the girls discussed the course which Alban would
probably take, on receiving Mr. Wyvil's invitation.

"He will only be too glad," Cecilia asserted, "to have the
opportunity of seeing you again."

"I doubt whether he will care about seeing me again, among
strangers," Emily replied. "And you forget that there are
obstacles in his way. How is he to leave his class?"

"Quite easily! His class doesn't meet on the Saturday
half-holiday. He can be here, if he starts early, in time for
luncheon; and he can stay till Monday or Tuesday."

"Who is to take his place at the school?"

"Miss Ladd, to be sure--if _you_ make a point of it. Write to
her, as well as to Mr. Morris."

The letters being written--and the order having been given to
prepare a room for the expected guest--Emily and Cecilia returned
to the drawing-room. They found the elders of the party variously
engaged--the men with newspapers, and the ladies with work.
Entering the conservatory next, they discovered Cecilia's sister
languishing among the flowers in an easy chair. Constitutional
laziness, in some young ladies, assumes an invalid character, and
presents the interesting spectacle of perpetual convalescence.
The doctor declared that the baths at St. Moritz had cured Miss
Julia. Miss Julia declined to agree with the doctor.

"Come into the garden with Emily and me," Cecilia said.

"Emily and you don't know what it is to be ill," Julia answered.

The two girls left her, and joined the young people who were
amusing themselves in the garden. Francine had taken possession
of Mirabel, and had condemned him to hard labor in swinging her.
He made an attempt to get away when Emily and Cecilia approached,
and was peremptorily recalled to his duty. "Higher!" cried Miss
de Sor, in her hardest tones of authority. "I want to swing
higher than anybody else!" Mirabel submitted with gentleman-like
resignation, and was rewarded by tender encouragement expressed
in a look.

"Do you see that?" Cecilia whispered. "He knows how rich she
is--I wonder whether he will marry her."

Emily smiled. "I doubt it, while he is in this house," she said.
"You are as rich as Francine--and don't forget that you have
other attractions as well."

Cecilia shook her head. "Mr. Mirabel is very nice," she admitted;
"but I wouldn't marry him. Would you?"

Emily secretly compared Alban with Mirabel. "Not for the world!"
she answered.

The next day was the day of Mirabel's departure. His admirers
among the ladies followed him out to the door, at which Mr.
Wyvil's carriage was waiting. Francine threw a nosegay after the
departing guest as he got in. "Mind you come back to us on
Monday!" she said. Mirabel bowed and thanked her; but his last
look was for Emily, standing apart from the others at the top of
the steps. Francine said nothing; her lips closed
convulsively--she turned suddenly pale.